


Spike to Center Stage

by FightTheThorn



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Chair Bondage, Dress Clothes, Gags, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FightTheThorn/pseuds/FightTheThorn
Summary: Spike awakes from his slumber by a mysterious sound and pure darkness. Little does he know that the darkness is not something to fear, but what lurks in it.
Relationships: Angel/Spike (BtVS)
Kudos: 12





	Spike to Center Stage

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading the new Angel - Angel & Spike comic book series, and I forgot how much I loved their dynamic. As I was about to fall asleep, I was hit by this idea and couldn't stop from drafting the whole thing in one night. XD There's SO little Spangel fanart?? Regardless, please enjoy this. <3

His head pounded. 

Spike groaned, head lolling from side to side as he fought for consciousness. The pounding beat to a familiar drum. From the thirst, he guessed. Always from the thirst. Yet… the grogginess clouding his thoughts was unusual. 

Click. 

Click.

Click. 

Click.

The noise ushered him from his slumber. 

He shook his head, trying to throw off the weariness. Spike groaned. The movement felt like a pike pierced his temples. He stopped almost immediately, squeezing his eyes shut tight and waiting for the pain to dissipate. 

Even in the mist of pain, the clicking continued almost more energetically and even with his eyes shut tight he could see flashes of light in the darkness. After the pain subsided, he slowly peeked under his eyelids, only to be met by a blinding light searing into his eyes like blades. 

“Fuck!” Spike snarled, shaking his head. It pounded doubly more painful once again. He cursed his own stupidity. Of _course_ it bloody hurt. 

He let the pain ebb away again, the black spots slowly letting up behind closed eyelids before the next attempt. 

His eyes fluttered open, blinking away the tiredness. The exhaustion. 

_Finally_ , he managed to keep his eyes open and felt the cloud in his mind start to clear... 

The room was dark. Not only dark, but _pitch black_ dark. He couldn’t see an inch from his face.

 _‘Great_.’ Spike thought viciously, gritting his teeth and glaring aimlessly around the room. 

Another subtle click and a bright flash exploded from the darkness, and Spike cried out, instinctively moving his hands up to block his face. But they were solidly stuck to… something. “Fuck! Goddammit! Stop!” Another and another as he cursed. The light was getting closer and brighter. Now not even closing his eyes stopped the resounding pain each flash causing the pounding to return, albeit less and less painful the longer he was conscious. 

He tugged at his hands, commanding them to come to his aid. Despite the onslaught of light, he realised he was sitting in a hard chair, his wrists and arms bound tightly to it. And his ankles and legs were spread out, bound separately to each chair leg. And even thick ropes around his chest to keep him completely still. 

“Bloody hell! Stop that horrid flashing! When I get out of this, I’ll bloody fucking kill you!” Spike spat, his beautifully sharp features shifting in an instant. The skin became bumpy, his cheekbones jutted out and were much more prominent, his eyebrows also pushing away from his skull, causing his eyes to become sunken and monstrous. His teeth were like sharp knives, bared like a lion. His nose morphed into a shape like a snout. His hands also shifted into monster-like claws, scratching desperately at the chair and the ropes binding them to his side. Neither gave him relief from the searing flashes. 

Hopelessly, Spike squirmed and thrashed in his bonds. Words meant nothing to this assailant, sending Spike into grunts and gasps of pain as he tried to turn his head this way and that to get away. If he couldn’t break his bonds, he’d break the chair! It creaked under him with each shift of his body, but it must’ve been fastened to the floor because it stayed upright despite his struggles. 

His breathing was heavy, his head moving left and right, left and right. Desperately trying to avoid the light long enough to focus on his situation, focus on freeing himself, _focus on seeing the **bastard** doing this to him_!

The flashes suddenly stopped.

Instead, a strong hand grasped Spike’s jaw and forced him to look up. 

Spike kept his eyes shut tight and flashed his teeth, snarling like a wild animal.

A few moments passed without a word from his captor, and Spike chanced a look. He slowly opened one eye, then the next. 

Again, all he could see was darkness. Not even the hand harshly grasping his face. The grip squeezed. He nose flared, eyes searching the darkness wildly. 

The hand released him. Then it slapped him across the face. _Hard_.

Spike snarled, straining at his bonds again. “You like hitting me while I’m tied to this chair, do you? You pussy!” He continued to look frantically around the room, swearing he could hear footsteps or a gust of wind from his right, then his left, then behind him, then in front of him. His head moved on a swivel. 

His captor let out a low pleased laugh.

Whoever they were, they were toying with him. 

Spike took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. 

He was bound to a chair in a room he couldn’t see in with a creepy humanoid figure skulking around in the dark taking joy in his pain, and his mouth was as dry as the desert. 

The Thirst begged for him to feed. It’d been much too long since he’d fed. He was starving.

Despite the sounds taunting him in the dark, Spike took in a couple long deep breaths. His face slowly shifted back to his human persona. 

Much more calmly and through gritted teeth, Spike said “Who are you?”

The chair creaked as he looked around the room again.

“Hello?” Spike called, glaring around the room. “Am I in here alone? I’d like some _bloody_ answers!” Spike tried, still pulling at his bonds. Even in the darkness, Spike could feel he was less than intimidating. He craned his neck as far as it would go over his shoulder.

And then, finally, in one last anger inducing flash, a light appeared above him, dousing him in a spotlight and blinding him once again. 

“Fuck!” He snarled, eyes shut tight. “You fucking sadistic human rubbish!” 

Spike hurriedly blinked, trying to get used to the intense spotlight above him. It was difficult to peer into the darkness beyond the cone of light, but he could finally see his situation clearly. 

Everything he’d sensed about the ropes binding him was correct. He saw his burgundy dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, one or two buttons undone around his neck. He wore black dress pants too, and black dress shoes. 

More sudden flashes, but these were less painful now. The spotlight above, a constant light source, allowed Spike to only blink in surprise. He tried to keep his eyes open, focusing on the person behind the flashes. 

“You are so beautiful, Spike.” The voice’s tone was even, steady. Possessive. And extremely familiar.

Spike’s heart (if it were still beating) skipped a beat. And then another flash hit him. He gulped, wildly searching. “Angelus?”

A hand covered his mouth, pulling Spike’s head backward. Spike’s eyes widened as he saw the shadow reaching over him. Another arm, clad in the same dark cloth, curved into his field of view. It clutched an old-fashioned flashbulb camera; a clunky, black box-shaped object with an absolutely enormous bulb positioned on top. A square of film, grey bordered with white, hung loosely out of the bottom, although Spike could already see the photo was beginning to develop, a slow process, given the low light of his situation. The photo was whisked away, out of sight, and he heard the mouth behind him open with a quiet smack.

“Say cheese.” Angelus whispered mockingly in his ear, breath hot, yet not humid. The command echoed into the empty air, giving Spike a moment to jerk his head in defiance.

Despite his disobedient motion, the flash went off and Angelus suddenly moved to sit on Spike’s lap. He rotated effortlessly, hiking one leg after the other over Spike’s torso. His hand flipped faster than Spike could follow, changing Angelus’ grip but not altering its position over his captive’s mouth at all. He leaned in slowly, pressing a soft and gentle kiss on the back of his own hand, eliciting a short and angry response from Spike. It was fettered against the vampire’s hold, escaping into the air as a muffled grunt of sorts.

“You remember how every time I try to rekindle our flame, you fight me?” Angelus asked, cocking his head and honing in on Spike’s eyes with his own. “Well... this time, you’re not going to get free.” He pressed ever-so-slightly, increasing the pressure on Spike’s mouth, a small act of ownership. His eyes moved from Spike’s, slipping up and down his captive’s attire.

You’re dressed beautifully by the way.” He noted conversationally. “Did Buffers ask you to? So dapper.” There was a pause as Angelus listened to the rush of Spike’s breath flowing through his nose. In, out, in, out. A hasty, angry motion that stimulated the top of the hand silencing him.

Spike let out a muffled snarl, lunging forward, the ropes creaking as they held him taut. 

A smile pulled at the edges of Angelus’ lips. “Don’t worry. You do look pale, but you show up great on camera.” 

Angelus gestured to the room around them. “You’ll be Internet famous when I post them.”

Spike scowled, an angry growl escaping between the fingers covering his mouth. 

Angelus simply chuckled in response, planting a kiss on Spike’s forehead before removing his hand. An irate insult quickly followed.

“You psycho fucking _twat_!” Spike spat. “I don’t give a single bloody fuck about your crazy photos, I don’t give _two_ fucks about what you want!” His breathing was heavy and fast, resulting from a combination of pure rage and his previous inability to breathe through it. “I’m going to rip out your throat and feed it to-“

During his outburst, Angelus had rolled his eyes and pulled out Spike’s black tie from his coat pocket. With a weary sigh, he began balling it up, winding it tightly from end to end.

Spike saw the signs and immediately locked his jaw like a steel trap. Angelus’ jaw, on the other hand, had curved into a devious smirk.

His captor pressed the tie against his lips, rubbing it against them in what he hoped was a tantalizing fashion. “Open up, Spikey.” His voice was sing-song, as if he were trying to convince a dog to relinquish their favorite toy.

His eyes narrowed into a defiant glare as he moved his head to the left and up. “Nmro.” Spike muttered behind closed lips. “Hukough.” Even with his jaw locked shut, he still threw expletives.

“Aw… don’t be like that.” He said, cooing. Angelus leaned forward and kissed Spike’s throat, while his free hand stroked his captive’s arm lovingly. It moved up, then down, up, then down, slow and hypnotic, but Spike was unfazed by Angelus’ attempt to placate him. 

“It’ll be just like the good old days.”

Spike’s eyes widened at the traumatic memories flooding into him. Angelus and chains. Angelus and ropes. Angelus and pokers and bags and leather. 

Cold metal clamping down on his wrists and ankles. Black leather constricting his breathing, keeping him from calling out. Red-hot pokers, inflicting such excruciating, unbearable pain. All in the name of the hierarchical bond they shared between them. Extreme measures for an extreme world, he had rationalized. In truth, he had enjoyed those experiences, even craved them.

But those pleasant, intense memories had become tainted by the bad blood between them. Bittersweet, tinged with melancholy.

He’d loved it then. 

Now… he didn’t.

“No!” Spike shouted, rushing back into the present, unable to stop himself.

And in went the tie. Angelus deftly shoved it into Spike’s open maw, his long fingers packing the material in tightly. He pulled his fingers out before Spike could so much as begin biting down. His captive reacted by trying to push it out with his tongue, but the fabric was too dense; it held fast. 

Angelus hummed happily as he pulled out a large silken handkerchief and folded it neatly on his lap. Pitch black, made of soft, supple silk. Nothing but the best for his Spike. He held it up to his captive’s mouth, gauging where to place it,before forcing it over the material packing Spike’s mouth, pulling it taut. He held the ends of the cloth, with one hand, behind Spike’s head. So tight, so unbearably tight. Even the soft silk was driving Spike crazy with how restrictive Angelus had made it. Angelus hesitated, considering the gag and how it looked on his captive. “Ah, yes.” He praised his own choice, drinking in how the black fit so perfectly over Spike’s mouth. “This color looks great on you.”

Spike’s muffled growls fell on deaf ears, his eyes shooting bullets, his razor-sharp canines digging into the cloth stuffing. They sank deep, so deep in his rage he was sure he wouldn’t be able to pry them out without that wretched silk covering his mouth.

Angelus leaned in, kissing where Spike’s lips were hidden under the cloth, his own sensing the presence of Spike’s. Subtle bumps, tell-tale sounds that, yes, Spike was receiving the kiss. But there was nothing he could do to reciprocate.

Spike began to buck and scream. He shook his head vehemently, his hands scratching and clawing wildly, trapped uselessly in his bonds. His nails caught on the ropes, slipping and sliding on the hemp, receiving no purchase.

Laughing, Angelus finally tied the handkerchief with a double knot, as tight as he could possibly make it, before wrapping his arms around Spike’s neck. His hands slid up, his fingers threading themselves through Spike’s hair and pushing the gagged man’s head forward, towards Angelus’ waiting lips.. “Mwah!” Angelus said over exaggerating the kiss. 

He let go of Spike’s head forcefully, sliding out of Spike’s lap. Angel stepped back until half his face was covered in darkness, but Spike could tell he was admiring his handiwork. “Perhaps you’d look better a little more… disheveled. Perhaps some nice marks on your skin?” That vicious smile pulled wide. “What ever will Buffy think of her strong, vampiric protector?” Angelus licked his lips. “I’ll post these photos all over, so you can get the adoration you deserve… you _crave_.” 

Angelus moved back into the light, grasping Spike by the hair and tugging cruelly. “You’ve only ever wanted love and adoration, haven’t you, William?” 

Spike squirmed at the mention of his real name. “Everyone is going to look at you. Beautifully bound, masculine, helpless… I’ll give you the attention you deserve. You’ll get it all from me, and the world will look on at you and wish they could have you the way I do. My pet.”

He sighed happily, releasing Spike and reaching over to an unseen table to grab a few of the many photos printed from the camera. He splayed the pictures out in front of his face, examining each one.

“We’ll have so much fun together, Spike.”

Spike’s hands strained against the ropes, his pure, unadulterated anger seething from every pore. An angry complaint ripped from his throat, the only place his voice could be heard. No meaningful sound penetrated the cloth over his face; just quiet, irate mewls and growls. Nothing coherent. Nothing understandable.

Angelus gently ran his fingers over Spike’s face, caressing the soft silk and spending more time tracing Spike’s lips, while his other hand massaged his chest. Like a magician revealing his hand, he flipped the cards to face Spike, to show his captive the wondrous art they had created together.

Oh. Fuck.

“You look great in this one. This was when you were first waking up.” Angelus said, pointing to a nondescript photo in the center of his splay.

The picture was of a chair and a blurred… something in it. Spike, obviously, but rather indiscernible. 

He laughed as it dawned on Spike. “Vampires don’t appear in pictures, you idiot.” He slapped Spike again, pushing off of him roughly. “Well, whatever. I’m so pleased you decided to stay.” All showmanship vanished; Angelus got what he wanted. He had played the game, rigged it, and won, just as he always did.

Angelus leaned down to study Spike’s face, taking in every furrowed, angry look, every vexed motion of head, every twitch of his eyes. He ran his fingers through Spike’s hair, moving some tousled blonde locks back into place. “I always wanted you. As Angel. As Angelus.” His voice took on a deeper, much more menacing tone. “And now, you’re mine again.” He laughed, although there was no humor in the noise. “I like you better like this.”

And with that, the light shut off. 

Spike blinked blindly in the dark, looking around again. His eyes filled with rage and fear. The worst thing was to not see him, to not know where he was, what he was doing.

He screamed into the gag, shaking his body back and forth, pulling at one wrist then the other, kicking his legs wildly. The ropes strained to keep him trapped. They barely gave him a millimetre of give. 

He was rewarded with another flash of light. 

Spike’s scream of fury mixed with Angelus’ mirthless laughter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of the franchise. All credit goes to the makers of the series. 
> 
> A special shout out to James Marsters who also reads an audiobook for my favourite novel series (The Dresden Files). Lots of love to him.~ Sorry I imagined you bound and gagged and tormented by David Boreanaz. <3


End file.
